


there's a bird in my heart that wants to get out

by suzukiblu



Series: everybody knows we're just a couple animals [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Genji Shimada, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blood and Injury, First Meetings, M/M, Mission Fic, Pre-Fall of Overwatch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15028055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu
Summary: The new guy is not an Omnic. Most of Blackwatch seems to think otherwise, but Jesse doesn’t carehowfancy the tech upstairs is getting, no way they built an Omnic withskin.For one thing, they’d have done a better job of it.





	there's a bird in my heart that wants to get out

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t actually finished a proper fic in a minute but welp, looks like I write Overwatch fic now. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Canon seems to play pretty fast and loose with itself in this game, so I wrote What Pleased Me and I am not sorry, not at all. If you are new here that means “everything I write is wildly self-indulgent and probably related to my special interests, enjoy!”

The new guy is not an Omnic. Most of Blackwatch seems to think otherwise, but Jesse doesn’t care _how_ fancy the tech upstairs is getting, no way they built an Omnic with _skin_. 

For one thing, they’d have done a better job of it. New Guy looks like he lost a fight with a butcher and fell into the meat grinder in the process. Overwatch don’t make anything that messy unless it’s unavoidable. It’s no surprise he’s going to be doing the dirty work with them, either way. 

“He’s human,” Lupe says decisively. 

“I reckon so,” McCree answers, taking a thoughtful drag off his cigar. He’d just been thinking it himself, but of course Lupe was thinking the same--she’s his daemon, after all. “Ain’t seen anybody with him, though. It’s a mite strange.” 

“I can’t smell no one either. Reckon he’s a witch?” Lupe suggests. 

“I ain’t never met a witch like _that_ ,” Jesse says as he watches the new guy shred a training bot on the other side of the gym. And yes, he does mean “shred” in the literal sense. 

“Seems witch enough to me,” Lupe says. She may have a point. She usually does, does Lupe. 

“Fair enough,” Jesse says, stubbing out his cigar before anyone who gives a damn can come in and catch him smoking in the gym. He debates going over to make nice with the man--Gabe’s made it clear they’re gonna be working together, and he expects them to get on--but the new guy doesn’t really look in the place for it. 

That’s a _lot_ of training bots. And no spotter, Jesse can’t help but notice. 

Alright. Maybe they’ll just stick around for a bit, just in case. 

There’s other agents in the gym, so Jesse doesn’t much worry about being spotted and instead just leans back against the nearest wall and tips his hat down just enough to hide his eyes from easy view, if not enough to actually impair his vision. It’s not the first time he’s made catching a quick _siesta_ into an excuse to spy, though usually it’s on a mark. 

The other agents continue their training, unbothered by both his slacking off against a wall and the new guy’s vicious maiming of the training bots. Jesse watches him for a while, idly wondering if Morrison knows how much damage this guy’s doing right now. Maybe. For all he knows, this is a test. 

It is a _damn_ lot of damage, though. 

“Scorpion,” Jesse guesses eventually, wishing he’d kept his cigar just for something to do. They saw a lot of scorpions in Deadlock. This guy moves just like one, whip-quick and brutal. ‘Course, that could also be--“Or a snake.” 

“A real poisonous one,” Lupe says agreeably, settling down beside his feet. “Or rabid.” 

“Now, darlin’, don’t go assuming the worst first thing,” Jesse chides, but of course he’d been thinking it too. His daemon, after all. 

“If there ain’t nothing wrong with his daemon, then where’s it at?” Lupe asks, making no effort to hide her intent focus on the new guy. She sure does make it hard to remind everyone he’s the easy-going type. 

“Ain’t our business either way,” he reminds her, folding his hands behind his head. Lupe snorts, lip curling in canine disdain. “Don’t be like that, sweetheart.” 

“You ain’t got the sense God gave a horsefly,” Lupe says. 

The new guy goes through a lot more training bots before he stops, and Jesse’s fairly sure he only stops because his flesh and blood arm starts bleeding at the tubes. Maybe not even that, though; it’s hard to be sure how long it was bleeding for. It’s not like the guy’s been properly hydrating and taking breaks, for one thing. 

The new guy drags himself out of the gym without cleaning up the wreckage of the training bots, body stiff and arm bloody, and Jesse still don’t see hide nor hair of no daemon. 

He goes over and takes care of the mess, though, because _someone_ here oughta practice proper gym etiquette. 

Anyway, Gabe wants them to get on. Might as well get started on that. 

.

.

. 

“You know, partner, you’re supposed to clean up after you use the gym,” Jesse advises the new guy the next day, as they both wait outside Moira’s door. She and Gabe are in her office and both fussed about something Jesse doesn’t want involved in; he has no idea why the new guy’s here. 

The new guy doesn’t even look at him. Jesse should start thinking of him by his name, he guesses, but it’s a bit odd to do that with a man he’s never properly met. 

“Just saying,” he says. “The training bots can only put themselves away when you _ain’t_ sliced ‘em to ribbons.” 

The new guy continues to ignore him. Jesse’d be offended, probably, if he were the sort to get offended. Deadlock and Blackwatch both made real sure he wasn’t. 

“Don’t you _never_ let your daemon out?” Lupe asks impatiently. She’s all the best parts of him, but unfortunately also all the _worst_ parts. Jesse doesn’t even get his mouth open before the new guy’s jumped into the ceiling. Yes, literally. Again. Shoved aside a panel and disappeared up into it like nobody’s damn business. 

“Cricket?” he guesses, tipping his head back to marvel up the distance the other just jumped from a standstill. That’s some impressive shit, right there. 

“Rabid cricket,” Lupe mutters under her breath. Jesse sighs, and goes to find a stepladder so he can fix the skewed ceiling tile. 

.

.

.

It’s been a week. Gabe and Moira are still fighting, probably over some petty shit but possibly something world-endingly bad, knowing them, and Genji Shimada still won’t clean up his own messes. Jesse has officially recycled more scrapped training bots than he even knew they _had_. He’d talk to the guy about it, but ceilings, windows, and balconies all exist, and Shimada has no problem throwing himself into, through, or off of any of them. 

“He definitely broke his fool leg this time,” Lupe says, looking down over the edge of the balcony dubiously. 

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I _really_ hope those are fully cybernetic,” Jesse sighs, folding his arms on the railing and watching Shimada scuttle away far below. His leg looks like it’s sparking a bit, but at least his movement doesn’t seem too badly hampered. He’s already sure Angela’s gonna blame him for chasing the man off a balcony. 

Assuming Shimada talks to her, anyway, which admittedly, he might not. Jesse isn’t even sure if he talks at all. He’s probably capable of it--Angela’s _real_ good at her job--but that doesn’t mean he actually wants to. 

“You think he talks to Angela?” he asks Lupe, who snorts. 

“I don’t think he does a damn thing but destroy shit,” she says. Which, fair. 

“Maybe he’s a spider,” Jesse muses. Something that doesn’t make noise and doesn’t mind heights, anyway. 

“Maybe we worry too much about what he is,” Lupe says. 

“Fair,” Jesse says, lighting his cigar. Lupe folds her paws over the railing, still staring intently after Shimada’s long-gone form. Jesse’s doing the same. 

He should probably do something about the flagstones Shimada cracked when he landed. 

.

.

.

Lupe didn’t settle until Jesse was seventeen, which was embarrassing when he _was_ seventeen but has been zero percent relevant in his life otherwise. At least, it had been right up until Genji Shimada happened. Jesse used to worry a lot about what Lupe _would_ settle as, and he’s spent more time than the average person thinking about what other people think of different daemons. Back then, he would’ve loved a scorpion or snake and died of mortification over a cricket. A spider . . . well, maybe a poisonous one. 

Lupe’s none of those things, of course: she’s a coydog, which means everyone’s always asking him what she is and no one really likes the answer. All things considered, though, his seventeen year-old self had been a lot more worried about shit than he’d needed to be. 

He wonders when Shimada’s daemon settled, and if he was disappointed or excited when they did. 

He’s wondering a lot about Shimada, lately. Not his fault, he figures. Handsome stranger, tragic past, burning drive, and zero interest in him as a person; Jesse’s never claimed to be anything less than predictable, or to have any better taste in men than a bodice-ripper. But Gabe expects them to get on, so there’s not gonna be any of that. Even if Shimada _wouldn’t_ rather break a leg than say hello to him, Jesse knows how messing around with someone on your team always ends. 

It’d be easier if Shimada could just be _normal_ about things. He’s always destroying shit, making messes, leaving a trail, and Jesse keeps finding himself following it. It’s not the smartest thing he’s ever done, but he keeps doing it, and of course he’s a sucker for lost causes. Nothing like somebody who wants nothing to do with him to get him in a right tizzy. 

He should stop. 

Obviously, he doesn’t. 

.

.

.

Angela and her Michael show up to dinner with machine oil on her hands and a frustrated expression on both their faces, and Jesse might be jumping to conclusions but still empathizes way too deeply. 

“Everything alright?” he asks. 

“Fine,” Michael says. Angela’s hair is loose and tangled, Michael’s golden feathers are in disarray, and they both look like they haven’t slept. Jesse doesn’t mention hearing the unfamiliar screaming from the ward last night. Gabe had told him to keep out of it. 

“Okay,” he says, and Lupe sneaks the bone she’s chewing on to Michael under the table. 

At least he knows Shimada’s got a voice, now. 

.

.

.

“What’s that look, now?” Jesse asks as he leans back against the bed, taking a drag of his morning cigar. Lupe snorts at him. 

“You still haven’t figured out his daemon,” she says. 

“Darlin’, he still won’t say ‘boo’ to us,” Jesse reminds her, lazily reaching over to ruffle her fur. It’s hardly a situation where a man who’s so clearly protective of his secrets would be telling any of them. 

Genji Shimada doesn’t have many secrets, of course. Everybody on this base knows his name, and everybody on this base knows what happened to him, and everybody on this base knows why. Blackwatch is usually better about that kind of thing, but of course it was the doctors upstairs who fixed him up to begin with. If he only gets one secret--

Well, Jesse would probably keep his mouth shut too, under the circumstances. 

“It’s gonna be a problem,” Lupe predicts. 

“What, his daemon?” Jesse raises an eyebrow at her. “Or your cat-killing curiosity?” 

“Very funny.” Lupe snaps her teeth at him; he strokes her neck soothingly. “We oughta _know_. What if he needs us to have his back?” 

“Gabe’ll know,” Jesse says. “He’ll handle it.” 

“Because _that’s_ a sound plan,” Lupe replies witheringly. “‘When it goes to shit, it’s somebody else’s problem’.” 

“Believe me, it ain’t my first choice,” Jesse says. Lupe just makes a frustrated noise, pawing restlessly at the covers. Jesse gets where she’s coming from, obviously. “Come on, now. We’ve got at _least_ a couple missions with him before everything goes to shit.” 

.

.

.

The first mission with Shimada goes to shit. 

This is what Jesse gets for opening his fool mouth. 

.

.

.

Jesse is bleeding and his communicator is fried and Peacekeeper is well and truly out of bullets. He hasn’t seen Gabe in more than an hour, and Moira and Shimada in two. The only thing to do is to get to the extraction point, but that’s easier said than done. 

He’s bleeding a _lot_ , is the thing. 

“Come on,” Lupe says, voice low and urgent. “Just a bit farther, Jesse.” 

“Liar,” he laughs. It sounds wet and ugly. He keeps following her, though, because he can’t leave her alone. Can’t let her go to Dust--not this easy. Lupe tugs at him again and again, circles around to push him from behind, and he pretends he’s not leaving a trail of blood a mile wide on the street. The bleeding won’t stop and he can’t exactly tourniquet his _gut_ , so it’s just gonna have to keep happening. He’s felt worse, anyway. 

Though that might be a bad sign, admittedly. 

He makes it a block or two following Lupe, who spends the whole time urging him on with strength he doesn’t know how she could _possibly_ possess after a night like tonight. Her muzzle is moonlight-bright with blood. It matches his hands. 

She stops mid-word, and goes still. 

“Sweetheart?” he manages. Her ears go flat, and she whines. “Sweetheart, don’t you _dare_ scare me like--” 

“I can smell Shimada,” she says. The fact she can smell anything but blood right now is frankly a damn _miracle_ , and Jesse almost says so before--“He’s bleeding. A lot.”

Yeah, that sounds about like their night. 

“Then lead the way, little lady,” Jesse says, because sure as hell he’s not leaving the man himself out here in god knows what condition. If he were dead, Lupe woulda said, and Jesse’s never left a breathing teammate behind yet. 

Lupe hesitates, but leads the way. Jesse pretends following her isn’t increasingly agonizing. 

They find Shimada down the end of a dead-end alley, dead bodies on the ground around him and body limp against the wall, looking like a broken doll. It’s probably not the _kindest_ comparison to draw about a man who’s more steel than skin, but it pops into Jesse’s head before he can help it. 

“Shimada!” he hisses as he approaches warily, just in case someone left the other here as bait. No answer, but that’s nothing new. No sign of life from Shimada either, though, which is definitely not a good thing. No trap gets sprung, at least. Lupe starts sniffing around nervously, and Jesse kneels next to Shimada to get some idea of the damage. It is _exquisitely_ painful to do. 

Shimada looks like someone stuck a live wire someplace important, his limbs bent at painful-looking angles and his body sparking concerningly in more than a few places. Jesse can see wires. More wires than usual, he means. That _cannot_ be good. 

Wait--oh, Jesus--

He realizes belatedly that the glowing plate in Shimada’s chest is broken open, revealing a shadowed and battered-looking mess of feathers curled up tight on itself. It is, undeniably, an injured daemon. Part of Jesse thinks _fuck, does he not even have a LUNG there?_ , but mostly he’s worried about the sparks coming off Shimada’s cracked chest. 

Fuck. 

“Hey,” he says urgently. “Hey, you need to get out of there. You hear me?” 

The daemon, very clearly, does not. If it’s conscious, it’s in no state to listen. More sparks crackle off Shimada’s chest. 

Lupe doesn’t have hands, and her snout wouldn’t be able to reach in delicately enough. 

Fuck, he hopes his gloves keep this from being too messed-up. 

Jesse cringes, then _damn carefully_ pries the cracked chest plate open just a little bit further so he can get his hands in and rescue the daemon before anything happens to the thing. And he’s just _not_ going to examine the fact that Shimada keeps his daemon locked up in what’s left of his own chest, he is just _not_. That’s a problem for another time, and probably a professional. 

Shimada’s daemon is a sparrow, Jesse finds out as he pulls it out into the dim light of the alley. The sparrow is tiny and delicate in a way Jesse would never have expected of Shimada’s daemon, and not even remotely poisonous. It’s missing a wing, and its legs are crippled and ruined. Jesse gets the impression it’s not new damage. 

The singed feathers are definitely new, though. 

He wasn’t wrong to take it out of Shimada’s chest--the sparks are getting even worse, for one thing--but he still feels sick holding someone else’s daemon without the benefit of blind panic or adrenaline helping him through. Once or twice he’s wound up with Gabe’s Alma shoved into his arms, and even once with Moira’s Boyd, but that was different. Gabe was usually the one shoving them there, for a start. 

Someone was still always this close to dying, though. 

“Shimada,” he says. No answer. He tries to figure out where to put down the sparrow daemon so he can try to do . . . _something_ for Shimada, but nowhere seems safe. The sparrow’s corpse-still in his hands, limp and too weak to move. If he didn’t know the man it belonged to he’d feel guilty for getting blood on the poor thing. 

He’s still bleeding. Everything hurts. Shimada and his daemon are both down for the count and he’s fairly sure trying to drag the guy anywhere will get him killed. He doesn’t know what to do. 

He’s never left a breathing teammate behind yet, though. 

“Okay,” Jesse says, letting out a breath. He could give the sparrow to Lupe, but her teeth are currently the only weapon they’ve got, aside from Shimada’s sword, which Jesse would probably accidentally slit his own throat if he tried to use. Instead he tucks the daemon into the collar of his serape, praying it’ll be secure enough, and throws Shimada over his shoulder. 

It sounds a lot easier than it feels. 

“Jesse . . .” Lupe says. 

“Lead the way, little lady,” he says. 

.

.

.

At the extraction point, he flips the collar of his serape to hide the sparrow and pretends it’s just normal concern for a wounded teammate keeping him this close to Shimada’s side. Gabe looks at his cracked-open chest and doesn’t ask, because Gabe’s the best damn man alive. 

Shimada doesn’t wake up the whole flight home, but Jesse can feel the soft press of feathers shifting against his throat.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://suzukiblu.tumblr.com/)


End file.
